I Think You'd Make a Very Nice Cat
by ohwhatagloomyshow
Summary: In his first Transfigurations class, the new professor notices a small, shy Gryffindor who immediately catches his attention.


It startled him a little bit, walking into his room on the first day of term with every head turned to him, fixed to attention. Normally there was at _least_ one or two out, at _least_ three or four sleepers-but not here, not now. He smiled at them, bemused by their rapt attention, as he realized that of course they would be interested in today's lesson: who _wasn't_ interested in human transfiguration? And, of course, that subject was always brought up in the third year.

As he took his place behind the podium, he swept his eyes across his students, scanning the bright, unfamiliar faces. He hardly dared to memorize any of them yet; that would happen later; as it was, they all slipped through his brain, each face morphing into the next as he came to it.

And yet. There was a girl in the farthest right seat, front row, that seemed to catch his eye. She wasn't classically pretty; in fact, he couldn't decide if she was pretty at all. Her dark eyes were a bit too big for her face, while her lips were much too thin, and her long black hair detracted from her pronounced cheekbones and made her decidedly square-faced and rather plain.

But there was something about her face that caught his attention: even though the features alone were strange, together they made an interesting face that produced a more-interesting expression. Her eyes, too big, were full of emotion-full of her desire to learn everything he had to give her. Her shoulders, thin and narrow in their Gryffindor robes, were straight, but her back tilted her slightly over the desk so she could be close to him as he taught. Her hands suddenly appeared on her desk, very long and very pale as her fingers twisted themselves around her quill and papers, poised as though ready to being at any moment.

It startled him when he realized how long he had been staring at this girl over his half-moon spectacles; instantly his eyes darted back to the middle of the class and began his lesson.

It took very little time for the personality of that girl in the front to come through. Her name was Minerva, she was Scottish, and she had the mentality of a Ravenclaw and the loyalty of a Hufflepuff, but the passion of a Gryffindor. She was always the first to his class, the last to leave, even if she had to slow her movements to assure it. She was always eager, always hanging on his every word, always happy to offer her thoughts or opinions.

She was a sweet girl, very feisty, and her personality quite intrigued him. She was a good friend to the very few she kept close, but could become very ice-cold when around people she found untrustworthy. She had no tolerance for ignorance. She also had a rather unusual talent for getting herself out of trouble at a moment's notice: she could be quite slippery when she wanted.

It disturbed him for a bit, his extreme interest in this thirteen year old child. He reasoned it out that his interest only stemmed from the fact that she was his best student, his most promising: of course, teachers paid more attention to the students that succeeded, whether they wanted to or not.

And yet, there was still something more. Maybe it was just that she had so much potential-much more potential to succeed as a witch than he'd ever seen in another student. He knew that she wouldn't be able to see this kind of mountainous potential herself, no, but it still existed within her, this summit of success that she could accomplish if she only set her mind to it. It was this that caught his eye: it was this and his desire to help her reach that potential, not only of her magical abilities, but her absolute potential as a human being.

It was nearing the end of term, and he had just finished telling his students a few last rules about human transfiguration when the bells sounded, and he wished them all a pleasant afternoon. As usual, the class threw itself at the door while Minerva mingled around her desk, slowly picking up her book to stuff into her bag.

"Professor?" she spoke up in a small, clear voice. His eyes flickered to her, and a light flush spread up her cheeks: she was nervous.

"Yes, Miss McGonagall?" he replied, stepping around the podium to her desk, his long fingers tracing the top of the table.

She seemed to steel herself, and she met his eyes. "I was wondering-before, you said that when people decide to transfigure themselves into animals, the animal ususally reflects their personality. Like Patronuses," she added, clearing her throat. Now came the hard part: she looked down at her feet and brushed her hair behind her ear with her small fingers. "I was wondering, sir-what animal do you think I would be?"

Her face was tomato-red, but it was endearing; he wondered what had made her want to hear his opinion on such a matter. Possibly, her interest in the class had less to do with the subject and more to do with him, he considered with a bit of a shock. Well, that thought was certainly flattering.

"A very interesting question, Miss McGonagall," he said slowly, peering down at her through his half-moon glasses. He backed away from her to take a seat near his podium, reposing in fake deep thought. She seemed to hang on his every word. "Well, you're very small, so your animal would also be small." Her lips began to pull into a smile. "You're very clever, and loyal, and friendly but only to those you wish to be friendly to." Her smile seemed to falter at that; he had mentioned an aspect of her personality that she either didn't know about or didn't like. "You have low tolerance for things you do not like or respect. You are defensive for things you love." He was silent for a few precious moments, leaving her in suspense; all trace of a smile had vanished from her mouth as she waited.

He smiled for her. "I think you would make a very nice cat, Minerva."

She blushed furiously, but smiled in a contented way. "I was thinking that, too, Professor." He winked at her, but she missed it as she'd tilted her head to watch her hands as they stuffed the remainder of objects into her bag.

"I should go, now," she said, gesturing to the door when she'd finished. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore."

He nodded to her. "You're very welcome, Miss McGonagall."


End file.
